


Work of Art

by a_mind_at_work (Madame_Marauder)



Series: Beli3ver 'verse [5]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: AND PEGGY!!!!!!!!!, Angst, Angsting over portaits here, F/M, Family Reunions, M/M, i know Nothing about art, please excuse the end note ive had way too much caffeine today
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 11:23:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12770001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Marauder/pseuds/a_mind_at_work
Summary: John has a portrait to draw, feelings to vent, and three sisters to reunite.This should be fun.





	Work of Art

    Lafayette flops backward onto the lumpy couch that dominates the room in its awful orange glory, and runs a hand over their face. “I don't understand people these days.”

    “He's our age,” Alexander points out, leaning against the wall as he trails in behind them. “But yeah. Who's his cousin?”

    His foster sibling blows a strand of hair out of their face. “Meade, I think. He's real fuzzy on the details of his past life, though. But I'm pretty confident it's him.”

     “Nice,” John chimes in absently, staring hard at his sketchbook. “Fucking hell, I can't get this right.”

     Alexander drifts over and leans to see the half-prepped drawing in front of his boyfriend. “What's the goal for this sketch?” he asks, knowing they're the wrong words but similar enough to the technical terms to get his point across.

     John blinks suddenly, and looks at him through faraway eyes. “It's a charcoal portrait, just has to follow a really vague theme.”

     “Which is?” Lafayette prompts, still staring at the ceiling.

     He stares at the half-finished outline in front of him almost fearfully, and taps his pencil against the page, then flips it. “Without.”

 

    Alexander glances over at the sketch, at John scowling at it, at the carefully plotted anatomy and the exacting staging, and winces. His subconscious recognizes the scene a moment before the rest of him, and his gaze darts to his boyfriend.

    “You're not-”

    “I am,” John agrees blithely, closing his eyes. “Shut up, I'm trying to concentrate.”

    He does, but watches in concern as the scene blossoms under John's pencil. It was a good memory, happy for all things considered, but just about every other one around that time period was… well, less than a favorite of theirs.

    John carefully adds in the details, marks where the shading ought to be, and frowns at it. “It's not right.”

    Alexander stands and rests his forearms on John's shoulders, leaning to see. It's a sound drawing, just as beautiful and amazing as everything else his lover makes, but it lacks… something. Something to drive home the theme, to make it real.

    “You cleaned it up,” Alexander says softly, tugging on the sleeve of his sweatshirt as his stomach squirms uncomfortably at the admission. “If you're going to draw it, be bluntly honest. And the lines are too soft, too gentle. Nothing soft about it, either.”

    His lover swallows and leans back to look at him, and he offers a bittersweet smile back. “I'm right here when you're done,” Alexander assures him.

    “I know,” John says, accepting the kiss dropped on his cheek, and his charcoal pencil meets his paper again. More dramatic go the ruts between the ribs, in go the hollows of the cheeks, and the lines get sharper and more desperate.

    John taps his foot against the table leg, and eventually just glares,  mutters, “Oh, fuck it,” and attacks the page.

    The end result is hauntingly beautiful and familiar enough to make Alexander pull his boyfriend in for a long hug, and John clings right back. For a moment they aren't Alexander and John, but rather Hamilton and Laurens, wholly and fully.

    But the moment ends, and Alexander snaps an only slightly blurred photo of John's portrait and sends it to the reincarnate groupchat.

    Lafayette spams the hot chocolate emoji ten or fifteen times, and makes no further comment. Thomas replies with a question mark, followed by a ‘w8, nvm.’ Angelica only responds with an ellipses, and Eliza doesn't say anything at all- she's probably still in class, at the moment.

_ Early night for us _ , John informs the chat, and he and Alexander end up collapsed on his bed, binging the Office, cuddling and eating what are realistically way too many Oreos until they both fall asleep.

* * *

 

     John’s teacher stares at the portrait for the longest time, brow furrowed at the sight.

     Alexander- the first time, Hamilton- stands in a spartan room, shirt halfway over his head, turning and smirking at the viewer over his shoulder as he tugs off the threadbare shirt. He's starved, one could almost say emaciated and be correct, and the single candle throws long shadows across the room. But his expression is genuine, despite the exhaustion and hunger bearing down on his frame.

      “You know,” the teacher says, looking over at the line of topless women broken with the odd picture that actually puts some meaning behind  _ without _ , “I don't think I've ever seen someone capture the theme this well.”

      Thank god. “Blame the vivid Revelation,” John replies quietly, needing him to understand that this was nothing from his imagination, this had been a sight seared into his mind for years.

      A girl down the line jerks her head around to face him, and he glances at the portrait in her hands. It's a middle-aged woman on an old-fashioned couch with her head in her hands, and a teenage girl staring off into space seated on one arm of the couch. Behind the woman who might be weeping is a family picture- the woman, years younger, with an arm around a man who must be her husband, who's cradling a baby in his arms. A boy perhaps around fifteen or sixteen sits on one end of the couch, a girl maybe twelve where the older one below is perched. A small boy sits to each of the parents’ sides, and they're all smiling towards the portrait artist.

      Trouble is, John would recognize that couple anywhere, even in a younger sister's portrait of them.

      He slips over to her as their teacher critiques yet another nude drawing, and she stares.

     “You drew my old brother-in-law,” she accuses, and he shrugs. 

     “You drew my girlfriend in front of a picture of her and our boyfriend,” he replies.

     She blinks. “Laurens, then?”

     “Hello, Peggy,” he replies, and she starts. “Have you found anyone else yet?”

     Peggy frowns. “No. And how did you know I wasn't Angelica?”

     John raises an eyebrow. “Because Angelica is very tall and very scary and very, very good at shovel talks. You're shorter than I am. Also, if you've not found anyone; boy, do I need to give you my contact list.”

     “Who've you found?” she asks eagerly, forgetting her irritation at immediately being recognized. “Like I said, I haven't gotten much anywhere in looking.”

     He turns his sketchbook over in his hands. “Tench Tilghman. Hercules Mulligan. Lafayette. Alexander. I hear that Alex’s dad is G-Wash. Oh, and Angelica and Eliza.”

     “My sisters are here?”

 

     Alexander’s phone pings, then pings again. And again, and again. He checks it to see John demanding he, Eliza, and Angelica all head to the school coffeeshop, a line of indecipherable gibberish, and then ‘sorry i found someone and shes a little overexcited to see u’.

     Alright then.

    The first one there out of the three summoned is Alexander, of course. He walks in to see John wave him over, and there's a flash of pastel yellow before he gets socked in the arm and pulled into a hug. “Goddamn it, you were such an asshole, but you were still my favorite brother-in-law.”

     Ah.

     “Hey, Pegster.”

     He hears a gasp from behind him, and he peels Peggy off so Eliza can sweep her up in a hug. Angelica is hardly a beat behind her, and the normally stoic woman is on the verge of tears as she gets tugged into the group hug. 

      John twines his fingers with Alexander’s, and he leans back against him. “Look how happy she is,” he says softly. “Thanks for letting us know you found her.”

      Alexander feels John's snort ruffle his hair. “Yeah, well, I know I would be over the moon to see my siblings again. If I could talk to Jemmy- yeah.”

      And that's right, isn't it, that there are brothers who  _ don't _ stop speaking except when asking for money, brothers who  _ don't _ just give up on each other. If James Hamilton Jr. came barreling back into his life, Alexander really couldn't say how he'd react.

      But John is humming along to the mediocre pop song playing in the coffeeshop, Eliza and her sisters have emerged from their hug and are waving them over to the table they've claimed, and his phone is buzzing with a text from Laf.

        It could be- no, no. It is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhhhhh sorry I've not posted for a Long While I've had irl shit to do. But!!!!! Coming soon to Ao3 posts near you: the Thanksgiving Extravaganza Nobody Wanted!
> 
> I need validation because I'm an actual potato and regionals prep is kicking my ass, so comments and kudos would be appreciated!!!!!
> 
> My tumblr: discount-satan
> 
> (I've had too much coffee today!!!!!!!!!!!)


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